


An Arrangement Like Ours

by Gintrinsic



Category: Demon of the Underground (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward-Merritt-Smiles Save Lives, Belmont being Belmont, Fluff and Crack, M/M, flower shop au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:55:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23867140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gintrinsic/pseuds/Gintrinsic
Summary: “You think I should poison him?”“No!” Merritt clarified, feeling heat in his cheeks again. “No, I just mean, metaphorically… It’s basically like saying you wish he were dead?”Belmont laughed again, unrestrained and delighted. “Okay, yeah, add those to the mix. Maybe the dumbass will chew on a leaf.”(The Flower Shop AU every fandom needs)
Relationships: Belmont/Merritt (Demon of the Underground)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	An Arrangement Like Ours

**Author's Note:**

> Based on Bob Appavu's wonderful characters from their webcomic [Demon of the Underground](https://www.demonoftheunderground.com/) and its side-story.
> 
> AU prompt: Person A owns a flower shop and person B comes in storming in one day, slaps 20 bucks on he counter, and says "How do I passive-aggressively say fuck you in flower?"

When Torrence had called earlier that day with a plea for Merritt to cover his shift at The Northern Rose—“Old man Harding will never even know, I _swear_ ”—Merritt couldn’t bring himself to deny his oldest friend this favor. Which is why, several hours later, he found himself staring at a clock and willing time to speed up. There were ten minutes left to closing, and Merritt could feel his ass going numb on the uncomfortable plastic chair behind the counter. Old man Harding, apparently, didn’t want his employees to get too comfortable at work.

This was certainly one of the more awkward requests Merritt had agreed to for his roommate’s sake. He wasn't an employee; he had only been inside The Northern Rose a handful of times, usually to meet up with Torrence before they joined the rest of their friends, but according to Torrence he just had to lock the register, water the more sensitive plants on the back shelf, turn off the lights, and bolt the front door to officially close up shop. It sounded simple enough.

So far, there had only been a couple of customers throughout the entire shift, and the transactions had been rather straightforward; a pink and purple bouquet for an anniversary and a prepaid calla lily arrangement. Figuring out the register had been the worst part, but awkward smiles generally diffused most situations pretty well in Merritt’s experience.

He did briefly wonder, however, if this was technically illegal.

(It was _probably_ illegal.)

Merritt couldn’t really fault his roommate for the favor, though; Torrence’s band had been last-minute booked at a reputable venue in town, and the gig could be a major steppingstone for them. Besides, he didn’t have any plans for the evening anyway.

Sighing, Merritt stood up and ignored the way his glutes tingled at the sudden improved blood flow. He grabbed a bright green watering can from under the counter, filled it, and went to water the plants Torrence had specified. Once finished, he glanced at the clock again, pleased to see only three minutes remained until six o’clock.

“Close enough,” he muttered, walking toward the door. Just as he reached out a hand to flip the window sign from Open to Closed, a tall, scowling man suddenly pushed through the front door with enough force to cause the overhead bell to ring twice as loudly as it usually did. Merritt stared first at the bell, then at the empty sidewalk outside, wondering bewilderedly how the guy had barged in so quickly seemingly from nowhere.

“Uhh,” Merritt started lamely, pointing to the Closed sign.

Without looking back, the man waved a hand dismissively over his shoulder. “I’ll pay double.”

Trying not to look as disgruntled as he felt, Merritt left the sign and returned to the counter. A last-minute transaction would look good for Torrence’s sake, he supposed.

The man tapped his foot impatiently as he waited, and the top of his expensive-looking shoe literally shined with the movement. Despite his rudeness and very expressive frown, the man was disarmingly attractive. He had strong cheekbones and pretty, appealing lips. His dark hair was slicked to the side, and the glasses he wore only seemed to accentuate the sharpness of his eyes. He also looked _incredibly_ aggravated.

Before Merritt could say anything, the man suddenly slapped his wallet on the counter and asked, “How do I passive-aggressively say ‘fuck you’ in flower?”

Merritt blinked. He glanced from the wallet, to the man, back to the wallet, back to the man (whose scowl was deepening now), and admitted, “I’m not… sure.”

The man’s expression rapidly turned from disbelieving to comically unimpressed. “You don’t know? You work in a place devoted to flowers, and you don’t know?”

“Well, I—” Merritt stopped himself from admitting to the _almost certainly illegal_ circumstance. “I’m new. But I’m pretty sure there’s a book for this. One moment.”

Sure enough, after rummaging around for a minute through one of the bottom drawers behind the counter, Merritt found a large guide covered in pastel floral patterns. He turned around just in time to catch the man’s gaze casually shift away from Merritt’s ass. Torn between feeling annoyed or plain flustered by this, Merritt simply set the book on the counter. “Uh, here.”

The man brusquely motioned for him to go ahead, clearly uninterested in looking through the pages himself, so Merritt turned to the index. It only took a few seconds to find what he was looking for. “Oh, there’s apparently a whole section dedicated to this,” he remarked, curious. Flipping to the appropriate page, he began silently reading through descriptions. The man leaned one elbow on the counter as he waited, foot thankfully no longer tapping, though Merritt could practically feel the weight of his scrutinizing stare. It was unnerving, and he could feel himself begin to blush.

A little desperate to break the silence, Merritt asked, “So, what’s the special occasion?

It was like the opening of a floodgate.

“Ugh,” the man groaned loudly. “Fuckin’ Pratt the Prick—he completely went over my head about the latest pharmaceutical deal. Practically spat on the chain of command. And Mercury, of course, didn’t give a single flying fuck. It all comes down to bonuses, understand? And Pratt, at the end of the year, doesn’t come _close_ to what I make. So it saves Mercury money to be able bypass me.”

“Mhm.”

“They’re like bloodhounds. Or vultures. Or—or leeches. I don’t know, whichever one sounds worse. Probably the leeches, right? Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“It was like last year’s Christmas party all over again, only this time instead of Evans getting shitfaced and crying into the eggnog over being cheated on by his wife for the seventh time, I got to watch him and Pratt get shitfaced and _smug_ on expensive cognac. Because, of course, as soon as the deal is closed, Pratt gets paid. And if Pratt get paid, you bet your ass Evans is going to weasel his way into that pocket somehow.”

“Sure.”

“So here we are. Flowers to celebrate his disingenuous, underhanded groveling to the Mercury empire. Congratu-fucking-lations, Pratt.”

Merritt glanced up, smiling at the heavy singsong sarcasm, and when their eyes met, the man smiled back. It looked warm, which was a surprise. “Well,” Merritt said, tapping the short list he had made while the man ranted, “it looks like several of these might fit your request; yellow carnations for disappointment, meadowsweet for uselessness, foxglove for insincerity, geraniums for stupidity”—the man snorted at that—"and orange lilies for hatred.”

The man nodded. “Sounds great. Heartfelt, really. I’ll take an entire arrangement, biggest vase you’ve got.”

Merritt felt his smile slip away as reality caught up with him. “Actually, I’ll need to check if we even have those flowers,” he admitted.

The man’s left eyelid twitched subtly. “Not really aiming for employee of the month, are you…?” He glanced Merritt over, clearly looking for a nametag.

Merritt felt his cheeks warm and tried not to fidget. “It’s Merritt. And no, I guess not,” he answered sheepishly. “Let me just… check.”

The man, as it turned out, was content to lazily follow Merritt around the store, occasionally remarking when he found a decorative item to be “especially gaudy.” And the store, as it turned out, was missing foxglove and orange lilies.

“Sorry,” Merritt told him after searching the entire flower inventory. “I think it’ll still send the appropriate message, though. Do you want me to arrange the rest?”

The man sighed, less than pleased, but nodded. “Sure.”

Merritt tried not to feel guilty as he collected the best pickings from each container. The man appeared to have lost some of his earlier steam; his energy, as uniquely, aggressively animated as it had been, had also been somewhat infectious. Merritt hated to think his little blunder had dampened the mood so much. So when he suddenly recognized a distinctive purple flower in the next container, he felt excitement rush through him. “This is delphinium!”

The man looked over expectantly, lips twitching and eyebrows climbing. “Okay?”

“I’m not sure what it means, per say,” Merritt explained, “but I _do_ know that its seeds and offshoots are poisonous!”

The man stared at him for a moment in surprise, and the seconds passed to the point of near-awkwardness before he abruptly laughed. “You think I should _poison_ him?”

“No!” Merritt clarified, feeling heat in his cheeks again. “No, I just mean, metaphorically… It’s basically like saying you wish he were dead?”

The man laughed again, unrestrained and delighted. “Okay, yeah, add those to the mix. Maybe the dumbass will chew on a leaf.”

Merritt grinned in return, feeling strangely proud. He gathered some delphinium stalks, set the selected flowers on the worktable, and eyed the available vases. It then occurred to him that he still needed to trim the excessive stems and…were those ribbons? Was he supposed to tie ribbons around the stems? And did it matter what kind of water he used to fill the vase? All at once, he began to doubt himself. The man, meanwhile, continued to watch him from nearby.

“Let me guess,” he drawled, shaking his head, “you don’t know how to do this part either?”

Merritt covered his face with his hands. “No,” he muttered.

The man sighed. “Seriously, how does this place stay in business? You’ve really inconvenienced me every step of this process. You do realize that, right? I would be totally justified in contacting the Better Business Bureau.”

Merritt felt his stomach drop. “That’s a bit extreme,” he answered carefully, wondering if he was about to get Torrence fired, or worse.

“I guess you’ll just have to go to dinner with me instead.”

“What?” He was sure he hadn’t heard the man correctly.

“You know, to make up for your disastrously lacking skillset in everything flower-related.”

Merritt gaped. “You mean a date?”

“Yep.”

“With you?”

“You’re so smart it’s almost sexy.”

Merritt scowled at that, but there was something about the way the man was clearly fighting a smile that made him soften rather quickly. “I don’t even know your name.”

Before Merritt could so much as blink, there was a business card in front of his face. He took the card and turned it around. “Grant Belmont?”

“Everybody calls me by my last name, though. So, is it a yes?”

Merritt fingered the edge of the business card as he deliberated. On one hand, the man—Belmont, apparently—was very attractive, and well dressed, and kind of funny, but the whole situation was a little weird. Then again, if he _didn’t_ go out with Belmont, he’d probably be arrested for this _doubtlessly incredibly illegal_ façade.

It was an easy decision.

“Can I choose the place?” Merritt asked. “I could use a drink.”

Belmont grinned. “Sure. What’s your poison of preference?”

Merritt chuckled modestly and pointedly didn’t look at the delphinium. “I actually meant water. Goat’s Grill has _really_ nice filtered water.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“No.”

“Well,” Belmont said with an amused eye roll, “I guess that’s where we’ll go. Shove all this in a bag, I’ll arrange the damn thing myself.”

“The flowers might get damaged.”

“Perfect.”

It was, Merritt concluded several hours later—when his cheeks were hurting from smiling so much and the waitress was politely informing them that the restaurant was about to close—a pretty good date.


End file.
